Devotion
by TrustNoOne182
Summary: After Mary dies Sherlock steps in to make sure that John and his infant daughter are taken care of. Anything John needs Sherlock does, all the while ignoring his own growing feelings. JohnLock
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I'm back! I have been working on this story since the trailer for series 4 came out. I have some theories about series 4 and this story is directly related to one of those ideas.**

 **A/N Part Two: This is a slightly updated chapter. I've amended Rosie's name (as y'all may remember I came up with this theory waaay before the series came out or the name of their baby was released.) No plot changes made.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not write smut. I don't mind it, but smut is just not my thing. This is JohnLock and is rated M mostly for sexual themes, just a warning to anyone not interested in that.**

* * *

When Mary died the lives of both John and Sherlock were turned upside down. Sherlock moved into their house to help John with Rosie, but mostly he was there for John. They hadn't discussed Sherlock moving in, but when he had shown up with a few bags and his violin John had invited him in, glad to have him there.

Sherlock slept on the couch-the only bedrooms were John's and the nursery, not that Sherlock minded. He would do whatever it took to make John happy. But John wasn't happy. There were those moments when he would lose himself in the moment, laughing and giggling at something Rosie had done while Sherlock laughed with him. Those moments soon went away, and then it was back to the way things were before.

One night Sherlock was putting Rosie to bed while John did the dishes from dinner. When Sherlock went into the kitchen a while later John was standing at the sink staring out the window, his fingers tightly gripping the edge of the counter. Sherlock leaned against the door frame and waited.

"How am I supposed to do this alone? I have this beautiful little girl who needs me, and I don't know how to do this without-" he couldn't finish the rest of the sentence. His fingers continued to grip at the edge of the counter, his knuckles white from the effort. Sherlock came and stood behind him, gently prying his hands away and turning John to face him.

"You are not alone, John. You will never be alone if you so choose," Sherlock said softly. John looked up at the detective, their eyes met and then John nodded. "What she needs now is for you to take care of yourself."

Sherlock guided John to the living room, his hand on the small of John's back as they walked. They settled onto the couch and Sherlock turned on the telly, just something to keep out the overwhelming silence.

"Thank you, Sherlock. I don't know how I could have gotten through the last few months without you." John put his hand on Sherlock's knee and gave it a gentle squeeze.

* * *

Sherlock made a habit of checking on both John and Rosie during the night. Most nights he would poke his head into John's room and once he confirmed that John was sleeping he would slip out and try and get some sleep himself. On rare occasions he would lean against the door frame and watch John sleep, trying to make sure that he wasn't having any nightmares or wasn't too restless.

One night when Sherlock went to check on John he found John curled in bed crying softly. For a moment Sherlock contemplated slipping away silently and not intruding but he decided that John needed the comfort.

Sherlock sat down next to John and gingerly placed a hand on John's shoulder. John went rigged for a moment and then he looked up at Sherlock. John re-positioned himself so that his head was in Sherlock's lap and after a while he stopped crying.

"The bed seems so big, and so empty with just me in it. Its such a silly thing to be upset over," John said. He blew his nose with the tissue Sherlock gave him and then dropped it on the nightstand.

"Its not a silly thing at all. If you would like I could...I could stay with you," Sherlock offered. He was hesitant, but his fear that John would reject him was outweighed by the knowledge that John was lonely.

"You'd do that for me?"

"I'd do anything for you."

John nodded and then moved over so that Sherlock could slip into bed. John laid his head on Sherlock's chest and placed his hand on his stomach. At the moment what he needed was to be close to Sherlock-he needed to feel his heart beating in his chest, and hear his steady breathing. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John, the position felt so natural. It was only when he was certain that John was asleep that Sherlock allowed himself to drift asleep.

They never slept alone after that night. Sherlock could always tell when John was having a particularly hard night because he would cling tighter to Sherlock, most nights though they respected each other's space. It became routine for them to go to bed together, though they never actually spoke of it.

Some nights John would rest his head on Sherlock's chest and Sherlock would wrap his arms around John. On those nights it always took longer for John to fall asleep, but Sherlock didn't mind. He would run his fingers through John's hair as they lay there, while John listened to his heartbeat; he needed to hear the life inside Sherlock's chest.

* * *

A few months after their new sleeping arrangement Sherlock was preparing tea when John came into the kitchen. He leaned against the counter and watched Sherlock for a few moments before closing the distance between them.

"John?" Sherlock was startled at this sudden invasion, but it only took him a moment to realize what John wanted.

John grabbed Sherlock's lapels and pulled him close, their chests bumped together at the same time that their lips came crashing together. For a moment Sherlock was too stunned to react but soon he had wrapped his arms around John and eagerly returned the kiss. This was what John needed-Sherlock could feel it in the urgency of the kiss. One of John's hands was tangled in Sherlock's hair, the other had untucked his shirt and was pressed against the hot skin of Sherlock's back.

John pushed Sherlock's jacket off his shoulders and was trying to get the buttons undone on his shirt. Sherlock didn't try to help him; he continued to kiss John, his hands gripping tightly at John's hips. Once Sherlock's shirt was open John began to trail kisses down his neck. Sherlock re-positioned his hips so that their erections were brushing against each other and the soft hiss John let out at the contact did not go unnoticed.

Sherlock undid John's jeans, unzipping them slowly to allow John the opportunity to back out if this was too much. But it wasn't too much, it was exactly what John needed. Sherlock sank to his knees and pulled out John's cock which he soon took into his mouth. John gasped and tangled his fingers in Sherlock's hair.

"Sherlock," John moaned. His hips were bucking in time with Sherlock's mouth. A few minutes later he was on the verge of an orgasm, his fingers still tangled in Sherlock's hair as he fought to hold on a little longer.

"Sherlock, I'm gonna come," John warned. Sherlock didn't pull off, instead he continued what he was doing and a moment later John came in Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock stood up and wiped his mouth on a kitchen towel, then took a drink from the mug of tea that had been forgotten on the counter. John managed to get his jeans done up and then he sank to the floor in a slight daze. Sherlock sat down next to him and for a long time neither of them said anything.

"John, I wa-" Sherlock began but there was a knock at the door and both men were startled. They looked first at each other and then in the direction of the door.

"That will be Lestrade, he was going to drop off some case files for us to look at," Sherlock said as he buttoned up his shirt and ran his fingers through his hair.

"I'm going to check on Rosie," John mumbled as he slipped out of the kitchen. Sherlock watched him walk away and then went to greet Lestrade.

* * *

It became a weekly occurrence for them, one that they didn't talk about. Things didn't change drastically between them. Sherlock began to take more cases that he could solve from the house, still needing to be doing something but not wanting to be away from John for too long. When John began to feel lonely he would seek out Sherlock and it always ended the same-a hasty make out session and John coming in Sherlock's mouth.

John was sitting in bed one night after putting Rosie to bed, he was working on a blog entry. He hadn't posted much in the past year, but recently had started posting small commentaries on the small cases that Sherlock was working. It kept him busy and Sherlock was glad John was back to blogging. Sherlock stepped out of the bathroom, his hair still damp from his shower and wearing only pajama bottoms.

For a few moments he leaned against the bathroom door frame and watched John working, wondering what was going on in his mind. Sherlock could always see everything on everyone, but so often John was a mystery. When John needed something Sherlock could always see what it was, but now when Sherlock needed something-an answer to a question he was dreading asking-John was a blank slate.

"John, do you want more from me?" Sherlock asked. John's head snapped up and he looked at Sherlock, his eyes flickering for a moment over Sherlock's bare chest, before his gaze settled on Sherlock's.

"What do you mean by more?" John asked. He shut his computer and set it on his nightstand while Sherlock came and sat down on his side of the bed.

"Do you want to make this a permanent living situation? Do you want to be with me?" He tried to hide the pain in voice, but he knew that John could see right through him.

"Do you?" John asked softly.

"I want to be with you always. I want to raise Rosie with you, I'd do whatever you wanted me to if I knew it would make you happy," Sherlock said. While he was talking he had stood up and circled the bed he was now standing in front of John.

"Sherlock, I'm not gay," John argued.

"I have never identified as either gay or straight, I preferred just to be who I am and have feelings for whomever I wanted. Society labels us, John, there is no reason for us to try and place those same labels upon ourselves, especially in regards to something as fluid as sexuality." He took a few steps closer to John who was still sitting on the bed and staring up at Sherlock with an almost defiant look on his face.

"Maybe you don't know who you are supposed to be with, what gender you should prefer, until the right person comes along. And even then, it could be years for you to finally realize it, being too stubborn in your belief that you aren't gay to realize you actually should be spending your life with a man and not a woman." Sherlock had raised his voice slightly, his chest was heaving slightly and John kept looking at it.

John stood up, his fingers twitched nervously at his sides. He took a small step toward Sherlock and reached out to grasp his hand. "I want more with you Sherlock, but it can't be here, in the house I shared with my wife. If you are serious about this then we need to get out and start somewhere that will be just ours." John stepped as close to Sherlock as he could and looked up into the detective's eyes.

"Back to Baker Street? Mycroft has been paying our rent so Mrs. Hudson hasn't had to rent it out," Sherlock offered. John chuckled and nodded, both men knew that Mycroft was paying the rent on the flat as well as the mortgage on the house. It was the closest to sympathy that Mycroft could offer.

"If that's what you want, then yes, we can go back to Baker Street." Sherlock wrapped his arms tightly around John and placed a kissed on the top of his head.

 **A/N: I have a lot of ideas on how to keep this story going, and I am going to work on them. Expect that there will be long delays between chapters. I rewrote a few sections of this story more than once just to make sure it was going where I wanted it to. I'm also really busy, with work and life. I hope you've enjoyed it so far, I would like to know what y'all think! Until next time!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Sorry for the delay in updating. I wrote the second chapter a few weeks ago, but didn't like it so I've been sitting on it. I ended up rewriting most of it, and I like the way it came out. I would also like to just say I've been working on this since July...so there are no spoilers only the result of my fevered imagination. This is the slightly edited story with the correct name for Rosie.**

* * *

The next morning after they had finished breakfast John's phone rang. He went into the other room to answer it while Sherlock finished cleaning up the kitchen. When John came back a moment later he was smiling.

"That was Lestrade, he said that he and Molly are going to come over tonight and watch Rosie so that you and I can have a night out."

Sherlock dried his hands on the dishtowel and then turned around to face John. This was new territory for him, dating, if that's what this was. There had always been partners in the past, but what they did could hardly be considered dating.

"Should we go to Angelo's?" John asked a stunned Sherlock.

"Sorry, yes, whatever you want to do," Sherlock replied. John folded his arms across his chest and opened his mouth to speak but at that moment Rosie started fussing in her high chair.

* * *

"We've arranged the whole thing, just go out and have fun. We'll take care of Rosie and see you tomorrow," Molly said as she ushered John and Sherlock out of the house. Both men seemed reluctant to leave Rosie, who was grinning happily up at Lestrade.

"Tomorrow?" Sherlock asked, he looked at John who didn't seem to find this surprising.

They got into the cab that was waiting for them, told the cabbie where to go and then lapsed back into silence. It was only once they were a few minutes from the restaurant that Sherlock spoke.

"Why did she say they'd see us tomorrow?"

"Don't worry about it, the entire night has been planned. All you have to do is enjoy yourself," John said. He gave Sherlock's hand a reassuring squeeze, and then left their hands linked together on the seat between them.

Sherlock did enjoy himself. When they were shown to their table it was ready for them, a small candle in the middle and their dinners were laid on the table a moment later. After they finished eating and had a few glasses of wine John suggested that they leave.

They got into a cab and John told the driver to take them to 221B Baker Street. For a moment Sherlock thought he had said the wrong address, surely there was no reason for them to be going back there. At least not yet. John had agreed he might move back there with Sherlock, but they hadn't discussed it any further.

When they got there John unlocked the door and led Sherlock upstairs. The lights were on and it smelled as if Mrs. Hudson had just finished cleaning it. Apparently everyone was in on his night with John.

"What is this all about?" Sherlock asked. He took his coat and scarf off and hung them up on the familiar coat hanger, watching as John did the same.

"I wanted to thank you for everything you have done for me. You dropped everything and you took care of me. You stopped taking cases, and gave up your experiments to make sure that me and Rosie were happy. Sherlock, you have saved me countless times, and I am forever grateful for that." John closed the distance between them until he had backed Sherlock against the wall.

"John, I would do anything for you…" Sherlock tried to insist that John was the one that saved him, but all he could concentrate on was John's body pressed against his. "How exactly do you plan on thanking me tonight?" Sherlock asked as John ran his fingers up Sherlock's chest. John grinned and then brought his lips to Sherlock's, silencing him with a kiss.

Sherlock soon was gasping for breath, John pushed off his suit jacket and then began to undo the buttons on his purple shirt. His fingers were steady, almost as if he had been practicing for this moment. Sherlock on the other hand felt unprepared. He kept trying to get John out of his shirt but John wouldn't let him take control.

Once Sherlock's shirt was off John began to kiss his neck, then he trailed his lips down until he was kneeling in front of Sherlock, his hands hovering over Sherlock's zipper. They locked eyes and Sherlock nodded, encouraging John to continue. He held his breath as he watched John undo his pants then tug them down slightly, just enough to free his straining erection.

Sherlock gasped when John took his cock into his mouth and it took all the strength he had to remain upright. He tangled his fingers in John's hair, his hips moving in time with John's mouth and hands. He tried holding on, wanting this moment to last longer but he knew he was on the verge of his orgasm.

"John…" Sherlock cried out as he came in John's mouth. John stood up and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand, a large grin on his face.

Somehow Sherlock got his zipper done up and made his way to the couch. A few moments later John came from the kitchen with two glasses of wine. He handed one to Sherlock and then settled onto the couch next to him.

"I've never done that before, I hope I wasn't terrible at it," John said. They dissolved into a fit of giggles. As the night progressed they drank the bottle of wine Mrs. Hudson had left for them. They spent the night talking, laughing, and making love in the most unusual of places in the flat. Eventually they did make it to the bed.

* * *

When Sherlock woke up the next morning he rolled over to look at John who was still asleep. He tried to remember what it was like to wake up in bed alone, to spend all his time alone and to not know love. It hadn't been all that long ago, and yet it still seemed like a lifetime ago (no matter how sentimental that sounds).

By the time they emerged from the bedroom Mrs. Hudson had laid out breakfast for them. They ate in silence and barely looked at each other.

"How much time do we have left?" Sherlock asked.

"Not much," John said.

While they were putting on their coats Sherlock could tell that things weren't going to always be like this. He pinned John against the wall and kissed him. The entire night was already filed away in his mind palace. He needed to review everything that had happened, but he knew that was not how John did things. John needed action and affirmation. So Sherlock poured everything he felt (he really was starting to sound like John), in the kiss. John melted into him and they were halfway to the bedroom when Mrs. Hudson called up the stairs to tell them their cab was waiting.

"Let's go," John said offering Sherlock his hand.

* * *

Things between them didn't really change after that. Sherlock had known that they wouldn't-that they couldn't-not yet anyway. Life continued on much as it had before, with the exception that John would always kiss not just Rosie but also Sherlock goodbye if he went anywhere, and also that their personal boundaries had been forgotten while in bed.

There were still moments when Sherlock found himself watching John and wondering what else they could have. It sounded so boring, so sentimental, to dwell on these thoughts, but dwell he did. The more he focused on them the stronger they became, until it was as if there was a fire burning inside him. A fire that was fuelled by John, and his devotion to John.

One evening while John was in the shower Sherlock checked that Rosie was still asleep, and then slipped into the shower behind John.

"Jesus, Sherlock! You scared me," John said when Sherlock grabbed his waist. Sherlock chuckled and wrapped his arms around John, pulling their bodies together and placing a kiss on the side of John's face. "Is something wrong?"

"No, just wanted to be close to you," Sherlock murmured. John nodded and relaxed into the taller man's arms. They stayed that way until the water ran cold, and then they dried off and went back to bed, not bothering to put on their pajamas.

* * *

It had been more three weeks since their night together at 221B Baker Street, and they hadn't spoken of what had happened between them. They also hadn't had sex, or anything resembling sex, since then. Though Sherlock had been waiting for the moment that John would corner him for a blow job like before.

"Do you still want to be with me?" Sherlock whispered against John's chest. John went rigid, and he turned his head to look down at Sherlock who wasn't looking at him.

Sherlock had closed his eyes, preparing for the worst. His exhalations were shaky as he waited what felt like hours for an answer.

"Of course I do, why would you think I didn't? You're a genius, afterall," John said. He spoke softly and ran his fingers through Sherlock's damp curls soothingly. Sherlock fell asleep thinking about John's words, never actually giving him an answer for posing the question in the first place.

* * *

When Sherlock got up the next morning John was already gone and his side of the bed was cold. It was unusual for Sherlock to sleep so much later than John. He tried not to worry about that as he got dressed.

John was sitting at the kitchen table feeding Rosie. Sherlock made himself a cup of tea, sat down at his normal seat and watched John feed his daughter as his tea cooled. He was so lost in thought he didn't realize that John was talking to him.

"Did you hear me? Mrs. Hudson is going to take Rosie for a few hours tonight, so we can have a nice dinner," John repeated. Sherlock nodded, still slightly dazed by the idea. He drank his tea and wondered if this was why John had gotten up so early, and if this had anything to do with the previous night. Before he could get too lost in thought his phone buzzed, Lestrade was going to drop off some cases he thought Sherlock could help with. Today, of all days, he could use the distraction.

That evening Mrs. Hudson came to get Rosie, telling them she had a friend close by that had a weekly card game and they would love to see Rosie. Sherlock opened his mouth to protest about taking Rosie to a card game but John nudged him in the ribs and waved her off.

When the door was closed they stood in the doorway and looked at each other, unsure of what to do. John had made it sound like they were going to have a nice dinner together, which seemed unlikely as they had eaten not too long ago.

"Will you stop thinking for a minute? You're making me dizzy with all those rapid deductions," John said. He smiled and took a step forward, closing the gap between them. Sherlock did stop thinking, at least about anything other than what he and John were doing.

Twenty minutes before Mrs. Hudson was due back with Rosie they were sprawled on the living room floor, naked and covered in the throw blanket from the couch. John was laughing and watching Sherlock, who was lying on his back and smiling up at the ceiling. It had been a perfect evening, marred only by the knowledge that it was soon coming to an end. They fell silent, and for a few minutes lay on the floor and stared at the ceiling, both lost in thought. Finally Sherlock rolled onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows.

"Why is it always like this? Either normal domestic life with Rosie, or a passion fuelled blur of sex when we're alone? She normally sleeps through the night, so there would be chances then. We could have last night in the shower, but you never want that. Why, John?" Sherlock asked. His voice was thick with emotion which he was unable to disguise as simple curiosity. Sherlock was a changed man, this much he knew. Life had changed so drastically, and thrown so many curve balls at them that he had had to learned to change with them. Emotion was not a handicap-it was the reason for existence; it was what fueled them as people.

John sighed and sat up, the blanket pooled around his waist as he looked down at Sherlock. He was chewing on the inside of his cheek, working on his response. Sherlock could see his mind working, he only wished he knew what was going on in there.

"Because, it doesn't seem real. Even these moments don't seem real to me. You naked with me and smiling. Laughing and shagging and doing things that a normal couple would do. You, Sherlock Holmes, are not ordinary and I don't want to weigh you down with my ordinary life."

Sherlock sat up and re-positioned so he could look at John. They had neglected to turn on the lights, they were bathed in the moonlight that spilled in through the windows. John was half hidden in shadow so Sherlock couldn't fully read his expression.

"You aren't weighing me down. I was the one that showed up on your doorstep and imposed myself on your life. I was the one that crawled into bed with you to sooth your pain. I was the one who knew you need sexual contact and gave you what you needed."

"What if someday you wake up and resent me and Rosie for hindering your brilliance? What if you decide that our life if boring and you leave us?"

"First, I believe she will be a scientist and I can help her develop those interests if you would only let me. Second, why would I ever leave you, John? I was so lost before I met you, and I'd be lost without you. My blogger, my John Watson." He said the last part softly, so softly John barely heard him.

John chuckled and leaned forward to kiss Sherlock. They didn't say anything else as they got dressed and cleaned the house up. It wasn't perfect, but for the moment it would suffice.

 **A/N: Thanks for reading! I already have some of the next chapter written, but I don't know how long it will take me to update so stayed tuned**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: I apologize for the long wait, but it took me a while to finish putting this chapter together. Enjoy!**

 **A/N Part Two: I do promise that I am trying to write Chapter 4, it is just taking me a lot of effort. Seriously, like I sat down to write the other night and a four page story just poured out...but it was not Chapter 4. This is my favorite longer story I've written, I do promise that I will update it.**

* * *

Things between them did start to change but it was not a sudden leap. Sherlock still poured over cold cases Lestrade provided him with while John played with Rosie. They still hadn't talked about moving out of the house; Sherlock felt there was no appropriate moment to bring it up. The changes that were happening between them were overwhelming at moments and despite everything he kept expecting to discover none of this was real-it all seemed too good to be true. Except when it didn't, it was those moments that drew him back to earth. Moments where Rosie had been up crying all night, John was grumpy and Sherlock was itching for another case to solve.

Those were the moments that tested them, tested their patience with each other as well as with the life they were building together. Sex between them also still stayed the same-they would go long stretches without in and then it was like they snapped and couldn't stop themselves.

The more time that went by the more Sherlock began to worry that John would never move back to Baker Street with him. Eventually it became more apparent that they would move back; John would hint about missing the energy of the city and how dull he found the suburbs. Sherlock tried not to push him, but he was also desperate to get back to Baker Street.

It happened one morning over breakfast on a day that wasn't any more special than all of the others.

"Let's move back to Baker Street," John announced.

"Okay, I'll let Mrs. Hudson and Mycroft know," Sherlock replied after a stunned silence. They went back to their tea and Rosie continued to happily spread her cheerios around on her tray.

They stayed at the house for two months after that. John would go into a room with a stack of boxes and sit in the room, staring from one item to another as he tried to figure out where to start. There was so much of the life he had built with Mary, and he didn't know where to begin. Did he take the pictures of them? The wedding album? What did he do with her clothes and her shoes, there were so many of them and he hated the idea of just getting rid of them-it seemed like he was trying to throw her away when he did that. So he sat there, day after day, without packing anything. Sherlock would bring him tea and Rosie when he knew John needed a break.

Rosie played happily on the floor as her father stared at the things he had accrued with the wife he had buried. Sherlock sat in a chair and read, waiting patiently for John to need something. He didn't push, he never mentioned how bored he was, and he never sneered at how sentimental John was being. After a month of no progress Sherlock came and sat down next to John, Rosie nestled in his lap.

"We can keep the house just as it is, for now. Just take the things we need and decide later what to do with everything else," Sherlock spoke softly, as if he was speaking to a frightened animal.

"I don't want to hold onto it and make you think I'm trying to preserve something that isn't there. I just...I don't know what to do." John leaned his head against Sherlock's shoulder, smiling when Rosie turned and smiled up at him.

Two days later Mrs. Hudson and Molly came over, Molly sat down on the floor next to John and Mrs. Hudson stood behind them.

"Did Sherlock call you?" John asked. He didn't sound angry, on the contrary he sounded like a man who was about ready to give up.

"He thought that you might need help, and he didn't think this was something he would be able to help you with," Molly said. She smiled sweetly at him, he returned it with a small smile that came across as more of a grimace.

"Now dear, what is really stopping you?" Mrs. Hudson asked. She moved so she was standing in front of John, her arms crossed as she looked down at him.

John sighed and shook his head. For a few long moments he stared at the rug (it was yellow, he hated it, but Mary had insisted it would brighten the room).

"Getting rid of her things is not the same as forgetting about the relationship you had. You had something special, something beautiful. She loved you, and you loved her. And now you need to move on, for your daughter. Mary wouldn't have wanted you to stay here out of guilt," Molly said. John looked at her and then slowly he nodded his head.

That day between the three of them they managed to pack half a dozen boxes. Two of things to take, two of things to donate and two for storage.

Molly and Mrs. Hudson stopped by as regularly as possible and helped John finish packing the house. Sherlock stayed out of their way, though he always interrupted every few hours with Rosie who enjoyed all of the attention.

After two weeks they had almost finished with the house, the last thing left was the master bedroom and closet. Sherlock was sitting at the kitchen table and pouring over one of his many text books while John, Molly and Lestrade helped pack the remainder of the house. He looked over at Rosie who was busy smearing her strained carrots all over her high chair rather than eat them.

"I don't blame you, but your dad insists that you eat these things. Apparently they're healthy," Sherlock said, putting air quotes around healthy.

Rosie looked at him, a grin on her face and exclaimed "Dada!"

"He's in the other room, we can go see him once I clean you up," Sherlock answered. He never understood why people talked to babies like they were idiots. How did they ever expect the child to catch on to normal speech if they were constantly cooed at?

He unstrapped Rosie from her highchair and began to wipe her clean of the carrots. She grabbed at his shirt and exclaimed "Dada!" again. He smiled and assured her it would just be another moment. But she kept saying it, and soon he realized that she meant him.

He smiled at her and then scooped her out of her highchair, cradling her close to his chest. She reached for the button on his shirt excitedly and began to play with it.

When Sherlock walked into the master bedroom it was to find the entire room covered in stacks of clothing, blankets, shoes, books and half packed boxes. He leaned against the doorframe and watched them for a few moments. Rosie turned to watch them as well, her eyes lighting up when she saw John.

"Dada!" She exclaimed again. John looked up from the box he was packing and smiled. Sherlock watched Molly and Lestrade exchange a small smile, as if they were in on a joke together, before they went back to packing.

John picked his way through the boxes and met Sherlock in the doorway, planting a kiss on Rosie's forehead when he got there. "Did she eat her carrots?" he asked.

"No, she thought they looked better smeared on the highchair. I quite agree."

Once they had finished packing a team of movers showed up, much to John's surprise, and took everything to its final destination. John, Sherlock and Rosie stood in the middle of what had been the living room, looking around at the empty house. For a long time they were silent.

"Thank you, Sherlock," John whispered. He grabbed Sherlock's hand and the three of them made their way outside, to the car.

 _ **To Be Continued...**_

 **A/N: This may seem like an ending but I promise I have more planned, just have patience with me. Until next time!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: And here it is, the chapter I apparently wrote months ago and then sat on. Stephen King's advise to writers is to always allow time between when you finish writing and when you go back to edit. I must admit I probably took too much time. But a very close family member of mine was getting married...in my backyard and I believe I spent most of the summer preparing. Anyway, here is the final chapter, enjoy!**

* * *

"John, why would you post this picture? It has nothing to do with our cases."

John came up behind Sherlock and chuckled when he realized Sherlock was looking over his blog. Sherlock was stopped on a recent post, it was just a picture of Sherlock asleep on the couch, lying on his chest was Rosie. It had gotten more comments than most of his recent posts, which had not suprised John.

"Its sweet, I thought people should see the softer side of you," John said as he kissed Sherlock's forehead.

* * *

Two months after the move back to Baker Street things were finally starting to feel normal, or at least as normal as they could for John and Sherlock. They started taking cases together, usually leaving Rosie with Mrs. Hudson, but on more than one occasion Mrs. Hudson was not home and they ended up bringing her with. It did make for an interesting crime scene as they juggled Rosie, detectives and evidence. Somehow they made it work, like they did with everything.

The trouble, or at least what Sherlock thought was trouble, started after they had been living together for almost a year. They had been living as a couple and raising Rosie as a couple and people had noticed. Most people were polite about it, Mrs. Hudson for instance asking if they would ever considering getting married. John had smiled politely at her and Sherlock has frozen, his cup of tea halfway to his lips. Lestrade usually only brought it up to them individually, never when it was both of them together. Sherlock had shrugged it off at first, but the thought stuck with him.

There were comments on the blog asking them much the same question, though somehow they were always nice comments. Sherlock suspected that Mycroft was involved in the removal of the hateful comments.

Sherlock was frantically googling information on proposals when John came home. He snapped his laptop shut and jumped up to greet him, probably a bit too energetically.

"What were you just looking at?" John questioned as Sherlock kissed his cheek.

"Nothing interesting, just the decomposition patterns of different types of fly larva." John shook his head and picked up Rosie from where she was playing on the floor.

"I think it's naptime for you," John said as he carried Rosie up to her room. Sherlock began to pick up the toys off of the floor and try to tidy up the flat as much as possible while John was with Rosie. It wasn't very successful-life seemed to be even messier than it was all those years ago when it had only been the two of them.

When John finally did come downstairs Sherlock had made tea and set a cup next to John's chair. Making tea was something that Sherlock had gotten better at. He had never really needed to make it before, there was always someone else there to do it, so when he moved in with John and Rosie at first he had to figure all of these things out. John probably thought he googled most of it when really Mrs. Hudson had taught him.

"Sherlock, is something bothering you? You seem a bit distracted, more so than usual." John sipped his tea as he regarded Sherlock.

"Did you want to get married, again...to me, that is?" Sherlock asked. John seemed slightly shocked but took it in stride.

"I want to be with you always. I want to raise Rosie with you and grow old with you, and eventually move to the countryside where we can crotchety old men together." John chuckled at this and sipped his tea. "We can discuss this later, for the moment there is a sleeping baby upstairs which gives us at least an hour alone."

"Always using me for sex," Sherlock said as he set his tea cup down and held his hand out to John.

"You love it," John replied. He pulled Sherlock in for a kiss which quickly became heated. They made their way back to the bedroom, shutting the door behind them and falling into bed.

* * *

"But he didn't actually say that he wants to get married?" Lestrade asked Sherlock.

"No, and now I don't know what to do. I don't want to push him toward marriage if that will make him think of Mary, but I also don't want to avoid it if that's what he wants," Sherlock said. He downed the rest of his gin and tonic and signaled the bartender for another, Lestrade did the same.

"What do you want? You've been so busy taking care of John have you stopped to think about your own needs?"

"I want what he wants. I want...I want John and Rosie to be my family."

Lestrade smiled and patted Sherlock's shoulder sympathetically. He'd chalk it up to the alcohol, except that was Sherlock's first drink.

"They are your family and John is a very reasonable man, just tell him what you want. Also, I do believe he does want to get married. He's that kind of guy, trust me."

"I'll drink to that, Greg," Sherlock said taking a long pull of his drink. Lestrade smiled and sipped at his own drink.

"Speaking of weddings, how are things with Molly? Haven't scared her away yet?"

"You really are a changed man, asking after my relationship. They're good, really good actually. She's moving in at the end of the month, and we've been talking about marriage."

"Great news, congratulations," Sherlock said with a smile.

* * *

When Sherlock finally calmed himself into knowing that John wanted to get married he then had the task of planning a proposal. He spent weeks on google trying to get some advice but everything seemed too boring, predictable or down right dangerous (a ring in food, bad idea).

Eventually Sherlock made up his mind and a plan fell into motion, with the help of a few friends. That plan fell apart when Rosie woke up with a fever and Sherlock was sent into a full panic. She was fine, which he would have known had he been listening to John.

By the time they got her fever down and she was sleeping soundly it was past three in the morning. They flopped down onto the couch, exhausted but not ready to go to bed yet.

"Do you miss it, how things were before?" John asks after they had been sitting there for a few minutes.

"No, don't actually think back on it ever," Sherlock responded. He reached his hand into his pocket and pulled out the small velvet box he had been carrying with him for weeks.

"What's that?" John asked, though he already knew the answer.

"Marry me, John."

Sherlock opened the box and turned so that he was facing John. Nestled in the velvet cushion were two identical white gold bands. John sank back into the couch and started laughing-this was not the response Sherlock was hoping for.

"Is this what you have been so secretive about for the last few months? Did you think I'd say no?" John asked.

"Well, technically you haven't said yes," Sherlock mumbled.

"Of course I'll marry you. Come here you big git." John pulled Sherlock toward him, bringing their lips together for a quick kiss. "I love you, Sherlock."

"I love you too, John."

Life at 221B Baker Street was not what it used to be, but all of the occupants were fine with that. Sherlock and John got married, Sherlock adopted Rosie and they continued to live as a family. They still solved crimes and argued about body parts in the kitchen, but now there was the addition of Rosie.

Her Uncle Mycroft spoiled her in the only way he knew how-set up a trust fund for when she was older. Uncle Greg was more hands on, oftentimes he would join them for a tea party; he had even been known to bring scones for their tea parties. Mrs. Hudson loved Rosie like she was her own granddaughter, and in a way she was. Things were good for the Baker Street boys, more than good even, perfect.

 **THE END**

 **A/N: I really enjoyed writing this story, I had a long list of things I wanted to include in the ending but it all seemed wrong so I ended up with this snapshot of them. I hope you all enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. I've got more up my sleeve for Johnlock, by Zutara month is fast approaching so I may focus on preparing for that. Until next time!**


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